Roadkill
by GinnyWazlibRocks
Summary: Our favorite Dark Lord is at again; this time trying to learn how to drive after a rather painful incident with a broomstick. Snape and all the other Death Eaters are in for an... interesting ride. But what else is new? Chap 7, final!
1. Broomsticks Are Population Control

AN: My sister is learning to drive, so this one is semi-inspired by that. Cheers!

DC: I don't own Harry Potter. No matter how twisted the characters are.

Enjoy!

**-bp-bp-bp-**

Voldemort limped off the broomstick. He hobbled up the steps to Malfoy Manor and stumbled up the stairs. He collapsed onto his prized swivel chair.

"Minion." The Dark Lord croaked. "I do believe that broomstick has just halted any chance of my future children."

Snape entered holding a steaming mug of mate. (the equivalent of tea to Argentina. It is made by steeping some fancy species of hay. As you can guess, steeped _crappy_ hay is exactly what it tasted like.) To avoid the awkwardness of the statement, he said through forced sips of mate, "But" sip "my lord" sip "you have" sip "never shown any sort of" sip "interest in children" sip "before." sip

"That's not my point, Minion." Voldemort said grimly. "What I'm trying to say is: _I hate broomsticks_."

"Then you should Apperate." Snape said, nodding wisely. Mate was very good for the brain, according to the nice foreign man on the corner.

"Apperation has severally reduced my chances of children too," The Dark Lord said darkly. "Remember that time-?"

"Yes, yes," Snape covered hurriedly. "No need to go dragging up _that_ incident. Just make sure you're sober when you Apperate, okay?"

"I still have bad memories. I think what I need is some more of that fantastic muggle technology."

"But sir, jet packs haven't been invented yet-"

"I'm not talking about 'jet packs', Minion, I'm talking about a _car_. Like, taking driving lessons, and such?"

Snape froze, mate mug still to his lips, and the liquid still pouring into his mouth. One cannot for long allow straight mate to remain on their tongue, so Snape proceeded to spit it out. All over Voldemort.

All over the manor, Death Eaters checked the date. Today, they thought gravly, would be remembered as a fateful day.

**-bp-bp-bp-**

AN: Short, right? Funny, hopefully? Continue, should I? I don't know if the story will be long though. Maybe the postman will come back for an encore…


	2. The Unwritten Rule of the DMV

AN: Short, I warn you. Buy hopefully funny, if I get the mannerisms right. Whatever. Just tell me if I did in a review! (cough) Oh yes, mild language too, for those super sensitive people. Just a heads up.

DC: DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles). Yup. Don't own it. Or Voldy, or Snape. But the Postman… different story… X-P

Enjoy!

**-bp-bp-bp-**

"Residence of birth?" drawled the older teen at the counter.

Voldemort had to think on this one… "Let's see…" his eyes wandered about the crowded DMV office, trying to thing of what the orphanage lady had once told him…

Oh yes. He remembered now: "The back of an ally." The Dark Lord proclaimed. "The stork carried me to my mother, who proceeded to die. Central London, if you're curious."

The teen on duty stared deadpan at the pale, tall, frightening man asking for a driver's license. "Thank you," he sniffed and pushed his glasses further up his nose, "sir. Have a seat, while you wait for your picture."

Voldemort shrugged, took the papers, sitting down in between the old lady holding her false teeth and another teen whose face was a mass of red dots.

_Kids these days_, Voldemort thought, sadly referring to the old lady as well.

Convincing the Death Eater to allow him to drive had been quite exhausting. The Dark Lord clearly remembered the dramatic and eventful argument he'd had with Snape:

"_Can I learn how to drive?"_

"_No."_

"_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease can I learn how to drive?"_

"_No."_

"_Pretty please?"_

"_No."_

"_Pretty please with a cherry on top?"_

"_No."_

"_You're not listening to me!"_

"_No – I mean, yes I am."_

"_Nuh-uh!"_

"_Yeah-huh!"_

"_Nuh-uh!"_

"_Yeah-huh!"_

"_Nuh-uh!"_

"_Yeah-huh!"_

And on and on until Lucius had yelled at them for drowning out the subwoofers, currently playing the credits for Friends.

Voldemort came back into awareness to check the time. It had been thirty seconds. He went back into his memories.

"_Nuh-uh!"_

"_Yeah-huh!"_

"_**Nuh-uh!"**_

"_**Yeah-huh!"**_

"_**Nuh-UH!"**_

"_**Yeah-HUH!"**_

"_Shut up, God--!"_

"…"

"_Sorry, Lucuis…"_

"…"

"_Nuh-uh…"_

"_Yeah-huh…"_

_(shuffle shuffle.)_

"_Be back in a moment."_

_(shuffle shuffle)_

"… _hmmm… he he he…."_

_(slam)_

"_Ha ha ha!"_

After Voldemort had run out the door (because Snape was getting more mate), he'd made it ten feet before falling down to physical exhaustion and calling a cab.

From there it'd been as simple as jumping out of the cab on the freeway as it passed the DMV office, rolling to a halt, checking for broken bones, leaping down from an overpass, running against on-coming traffic up to the entrance, and opening the building's door.

And only twelve abrasions, five fractures, two second degree burns, a bruised rib, and a minor concussion.

He smiled, quite pleased with himself. He was getting more athletic by the very _second_.

"Mister Voldemort Voldemort… your turn…"

The Dark Lord rose imperiously, and strutted over to the little booth for pictures. Albeit, his strut was slightly less strut-tastic, as strutting with a bruised rib can take the strut out of anyone's stride. (Alliterations aren't illegal… yet.)

"Sit down." The secretary said nasally, motioning towards the little wooden chair.

"From Wisconsin, huh?" Voldemort asked cheerfully. "Bet your cows are pretty happy."

The secretary sniffed. "Yes, sir."

Voldemort sat down, positioning himself in an attractive way. He ran through a mental checklist on his appearance. He'd brushed his teeth, washed his face, and made sure to shampoo his gorgeous locks… make that "lock" of hair. Damnit. That one had been shaved off too… Ah well, no matter. He was ready.

"On three, sir." The secretary intoned. "One…"

"Although," Voldemort began.

"Two…"

"I believe _California's _cows are happier."

"Three!" Snap! Flash!

Voldemort blinked.

The secretary glared at him with red eyes. "Our cows have character!" he hissed, "Those stupid California cows are spoiled! And they can't make cheese at all!"

"Um." Said Voldemort.

"Oh, everyone _says_ their stuff is better, but their milk his horrible! And their butter never churns right! And don't even get me started on their ice cream-"

"I'll just be going now," The Dark Lord said hurriedly, backing away. He had completely forgotten the one unwritten rule of the DMV: Never piss off your photographer. You will want to strangle yourself.

Voldemort went on to the driving lessons, which he miraculously knew where to find. As he took his seat, he noticed the instructor was rather familiar…

Something about that cowardly posture… that nervous twitch of the hand…

…hm…

…That UPS blazer with the embroidery crossed out and replaced with the letters "DMV" in Sharpie…

The Dark Lords features twisted slightly. It was his second worst time enemy (above Steve Jobs, but below That Potter Kid.)

It was Postman, come out of retirement.

**-bp-bp-bp-**

AN: Yeah, I was just barely able to squeeze the Postman in. By the way, his name is now Postman, as my fingers will not stand for typing "the" anymore than they need to.


	3. Wisconsin's Language Barriers

AN: Home sick today, so I wrote this up between hacking coughs.

DC: Me? Own Harry Potter And Other Related Franchises? Perish the thought!

Enjoy!

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Postman gave a forced smile as he underlined the blackboard's message with chalk. "Let's begin, shall we?" he asked, dragging the chalk back and forth across the board, creating a cloud of white dust. His early retirement had been disrupted by a midlife crisis.

"My name is Mr. Postman, and I'll be your driver's education instructor. Now, because I took no curriculum on teaching driver's ed, I'll just ad lib. What does a red light mean?"

The bald, frightening man in the back raised his hand nervously.

"Yes? You with the shiny head."

"Expelliarmus."

"Ah... no. How about green light?"

The man leapt into the air. "Ooh!" he cried. "Me! I know this one!"

"Um… yes?"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Postman frowned. That voice was strangely familiar. As if it had caused several instances of mental anguish for him… Ah well. The man was still wrong.

**Page break - page break - break page – page break – kaerb egap – break page – **

Voldemort was struggling. This was a first for him, at least in his mind. When that bloody conscience wasn't… well… conscience.

He looked down, and felt the sweat drip down his neck. Time was ticking, and if he didn't get this, the future was grim.

His eyes switched between the options. They were few, but impossible to understand.

The seconds flicked by…

He drummed his fingers. And swallowed. Man, was his throat dry… slowly, he moved his hand….

"Er… Mr. Postman? Can I get a drink?"

Postman looked peevishly up from his desk at the front of the room. "_May_ I get a drink." he corrected.

"_May_ I get a drink?" Voldemort repeated.

"Magic word?"

"Ummm… please?"

"Yes, you may."

"Thank you!" Voldemort jumped up, knocking over his desk and ran from the classroom. It was way too hot in there, and that test had been getting incredibly stressful.

The question he was currently stuck on, ("When a deer jumps into the middle of the road, you should a) swerve into oncoming traffic, b) hit the breaks, c) swerve into the forest that it just leapt out of, or d) lay on the accelerator and destroy all it's family's hope of food, as that deer was the only one left in the herd not horrendously disabled by hunters"), as precise as it was, was still confusing. Why had that one deer escaped from the hunters? And how could you be sure the deer wasn't some awful _fugitive_ deer, making up a sob story? Voldemort himself had escaped conviction on many accounts by telling the aurors that he need the dead bodies to feed his blood thirsty alien plant.

And this was just a pre-test. What would the _real_ tests have in store?

Voldemort shuddered in fear as he walked down the hallway. He needed some water to cool his head.

… Where was this water fountain? It had to be close… the DMV building was hardly more than three rooms, a hallway, and a toilet.

Utterly lost, despite there only being one hallway to get lost in, Voldemort noticed the man who had taken his picture.

"Excuse me, good sir," (Voldemort made a point to use honorifics in public. He wanted to impress _good_ habits upon his Death Eaters. Unfortunately, he forgot this point quite often, and counted --, --, --, --, -- and -- as honorifics.) "but could you direct me to the water fountain?"

The photographer man, to be named… er… Joe McCarthy for simplicity's sake, looked at Voldemort.

"A 'water fountain'?" Joe asked nasally.

"Yes, kind --"

"The well over there is the _bubbler._" Joe implied nastily.

Voldemort chortled pleasantly. "No no, my fine --, I said _water fountain_. Perhaps I should enunciate more?"

Joe glared at the Dark Lord. "It is a bubbler."

Voldemort gave up. "Fine. I can see you will refuse to understand, and jabber on in your simple 'Wisconsin-ese'. Good day to you, kind --."

The Dark Lord turned and stepped back into his classroom, forgetting the water fountain.

**Page break - page break - break page – page break – kaerb egap – break page – **

AN: Yeah, short, I know. This one doesn't really advance the plot, but hopefully it was still funny.


	4. The Little Yellow Cone Massacre

Sorry it's been a while. I promise summer will be a whirlwind of updates… But thanks to FuzzBucket for the well-wishes, I am back on my feet! … And in school. Damn. Ah well. And to make this entry longer, I make fun of Wisconsin a lot, just because it's funny. (personal experience)

DC: I've already said it a million times… _Must _I say it again?

Enjoy!

**Pb - bp – pb – bp – pb – page break! – break the page! – pb – mmmm peanut butter -**

"And _so_…" Postman finished, "the answer is 'd: lay on the accelerator and destroy all its family's hope of food, as that deer was the only one left in the herd not horrendously disabled by hunters.' Any questions?"

The pale hand in the back was pointedly ignored. When that hand was raised, it broght the nation's security to Defcon One.

"Excellent. Now… onto Behind The Wheel… who'd like to go first?"

National well-being fell to astonishing depths.

"Er…" Postman tugged his collar, glancing around the classroom for another willing soul. No one else volunteered. Voldemort sat waiting patiently in his desk.

"Any one _else_ want to give it a shot?" Postman asked desperately.

Crickets chirped. Outside, the faint noise of National Guard fighter planes starting up could be heard.

"Well, that's fine." Postman croaked, while inconspicuously groping around for the will he had stored away in his desk. "Voldemort and I will go right ahead, and you people can stay and review your notes… Ready," _cringe_ "Voldemort?"

"Ready as ever!" Voldemort chirped.

"Oh god…" Postman muttered, leading the imperiously limping man out to the Student Vehicle.

"Right. Open the door…yes, with the handle… good, good… now just pull it – no! Wrong way! Hold on, hold on… awwww dam – darn. You just snapped the door off... great…"

The two got into the car.

"Right, now first thing you do? Well, it _would_ be to close the door, but seeing as you _don't have one anymore_ just move on to step two. Yes. Your seatbelt…. Don't you know where your seatbelt is? It's that buckle thing up by your head. Just take it and pull it across your body… m-hmm… in the clasp. The _clasp_. You know… the little metal thing, attached to your seat? Right here… Well, yours is opposite to mine. Got it? Finally…"

Securely fastened, Voldemort moved onto stage three.

"Insert the keys into the ignition. Now turn them… good… good… now, next? NO, it is NOT revving the engine, I – Stop that! You'll kill the motor! Check your mirrors! Like so… yes, that's fine. Adjust them, if you need to – oh, shi – crap. You broke them off…"

Inside, every occupant of the DMV gathered around the windows to watch the proceedings.

"Back out of the slot nice and easy. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice and – f -!"

Joe winced as the Student Vehicle rear-ended his 1967 Jaguar Convertible.

"And _around_ the corner… not OVER it! There's lamppost there – well there _was_… okay, you made it to the course. Now see those little yellow cones? The goal is to-"

_Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!_

The car became a blur, zipping around the little parking lot faster than most would have though possible. And Joe had seen that Student Vehicle achieve some pretty unnatural speeds.

Suddenly it jerked to a halt. Inside, both Postman and Voldemort had some how ended up belted in sideways. Postman struggled to right himself, and failing, glared at Voldemort via the broken rearview mirror.

"The idea was to _avoid_ the cones, not _destroy_ them…"

The DMV in general surveyed the course with mild interest. It hadn't been this obliterated since Peter Fox had taken lessons in the 80's. Quietly, Joe pulled out his camera to record the event for YouTube.

**Pb - bp – pb – bp – pb – page break! – break the page! – pb – mmmm peanut butter -**

"Alright…" Postman limped back to the passenger's side of the car, after setting up some more cones. "Let's try this again. The goal, like I said, is the _leave_ the cones, and follow all traffic signs…"

He seat-belted in, crossed his fingers, and closed his eyes.

"…Go." He squeaked.

The Student Vehicle began to move at a putt-putt rate, so to speak. It inched along the pavement, tipped slowly away from the cones, and stopped at the signs.

Carefully, Postman opened his eyes. Voldemort was actually driving in a considerate, respectful manor. Could it be possible?

"Is 'Warning: High Voltage' a traffic sign?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Er… no…"

"Okay. Just checking."

The car lurched around a bend, and Voldemort rolled down the window, stuck his head out to catch the breeze… and ran his face smack into an incredibly electrocuted pole.

Needless to say, Postman took a personal day as soon as he was discharged from the burn clinic.

…But he was back in the classroom two weeks later, and so was Voldemort.

**Pb - bp – pb – bp – pb – page break! – break the page! – pb – mmmm peanut butter -**

AN: Oooh. That was shorter than I'd hopped. Hm. Well, bear with me, I've been unnaturally busy lately. But hope you liked it! And I hope you got the Peter Fox reference.


	5. Road Trip Bingo Extraordinaire

AN: Short, I know it is. But personally, I really like this chapter. It makes me giggle. I don't know about you guys but… I _would _know if you gave me one little review!

DC: Too lazy, and I have to go to bed soon. Aw, quit whining.

Enjoy!

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

Postman shuddered as the class filed in. Today was going to be the end… he didn't quite know what exactly would be ending, but he had a hunch something would. He also had a hunch it might be his life.

Because written on the blackboard was the most intimidating sentence.

"Behind The Wheel, On The Real, Public, God-Forsaken Streets begins today. Good luck! "

But it was possible… minutely possible that Voldemort would be ill for the next three weeks. Postman strained his eyes as he peered down the hallway, looking for that frightening, shiny head that served as the Halley's comet for the local DMV office.

It wasn't there. And it was time to start class. And Voldemort was _always on time_.

Postman's lungs swelled to impossible quantities and he breathed normally again. His hunch had been wrong. Thank god, he thought as he turned back towards the classroom.

"Helllllll-oh!" Voldemort said brightly, standing roughly three centimeters from Postman's face, grinning unnaturally broadly.

"HOLY MMPH-!" Postman swore, covering up the explicit term just in time by shoving his fist in his mouth.

"I was so thrilled about the first Behind The Wheel, On The Real, Public, God-Forsaken Streets that I hid in the filing cabinet after yesterday's lesson, snuck into the classroom, and slept curled up beneath you desk to avoid being late!" The Dark Lord told Postman cheerily, as if this was not completely creepy.

Postman chewed on his fist, while reaching for the paper bag he had in his back pocket with the other hand. The therapist had recommended it for hyperventilation.

"And the entire night I was so excited I couldn't sleep, so I spent most of it scrapping gum off the bottom of your unseemly graffiti-covered desk!"

Postman began the tedious process of removing his fist.

"Because of my extreme act of kindness, I hope you will choose me to be first up for Behind The Wheel, On The Real, Public, God-Forsaken Streets!"

The fist was replaced with the paper bag.

"I'll take your excessive breathing as a 'yes'!"

"…………….." said Postman.

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

Snape woke up that morning bright and early. He jovially strolled to the kitchen, made himself a delicious breakfast of mate and toast, and decided to take a walk.

The birds chirped. The flowers bloomed. The sun shone. Snape felt like skipping. Voldemort had been out of the house since yesterday morning, and the manor had become amazingly peaceful. Lucius had bought a Stairmaster, and watched 'Will and Grace' while working out. Bellatrix was slowly giving up her drug problems, and was now a Girl Scout Leader. Even the Napoleonic cockroaches had opened up an embassy.

The world was, in general, a better place without the Dark Lord being all… lording and dark.

Snape skipped into town, hoping to find the freshest import of mate. He felt smarter already.

Far off in the distance, there was a low rumble. Snape glanced about as it grew louder, and could gradually hear it being accompanied by another continuous sound…

"_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"_

A blinding flash of light zipped around the corner and vanished, leaving behind the light of two headlights.

Snape saw a piece of metal go clattering off the light into the street. He went and picked it up. It read:

Student Vehicle

Property of the DMV

_Tell me how I'm doing! 1-800-666-4355_

Tut-tutting, Snape shook his head and asked the nice Mate Man for his cell phone.

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

Postman was sure his life was flashing before his eyes. It was only logical. The car was going faster than the speed of light, which, according to Einstein, institutes time travel. And thus, he had so far watched his birth, his first time on a tricycle, his graduation ceremony, his first UPS truck being given to him, and the time he'd tried to deliver a package via a remote control toy car.

Beside him, Voldemort was concentrating amazingly well on the blurs of scenery whipping by.

"Watch out for that stop sign!" Postman warned.

"Which one?" asked Voldemort peering out of the windshield as the street flashed and disappeared again.

"The one six miles behind us." Postman replied miserably.

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

"Hello?" A nasally voice answered the phone. "DMV."

"I'd like to tell your student driver how they're doing." Snape said severely.

"Very well, sir." Joe said. "On a scale on one to five, one being excellent, five being failing, how well did the student do on the road?"

"Eight."

"M-hm. The student was respectful, considerate, and decent in relationship to other drivers and pedestrians. One being strongly agree, five being strongly disagree."

"Eleven."

"Uh-huh… The student did not fail to run down any fuzzy woodland creature that was crossing the road, be it animated, singing, or the last chance for it's starving yet optimistically cheerful family. One being strongly agree, five being strongly disagree."

"Fifty-three."

"Thank you, sir. Any additional comments?"

"He ran a stop sign."

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

Postman had started playing Road Trip Bingo Extraordinaire with Voldemort. The goal was to mark off as many famous landmarks as possible. So far, Postman had counted the Eiffel Tower twice, and the melting ice caps once.

"Ha!" shouted Postman. "There's the Great Wall! All I need is Big Ben, and I'll have a bingo!"

"No fair!" Voldemort complained. "I need the Washington Monument…"

"Suck-ah!" Postman gloated, waving his almost complete bingo card in Voldemort's face.

"Stop, stop!" the Dark Lord whined loudly. "I can't see, I can't-"

CRUNCH.

The Student Vehicle crumpled like a tin can against the Lincoln Memorial.

"Look…" came the muffled voice of Voldemort. "The Washington Monument… Bingo…"

Postman scowled with his face pressed up against the broken windshield. "I hate this game." he muttered.

**Bp – page break – break in the page - pb – the aliens are coming – bp **

AN: That WAS going to be the end. But then I decided I couldn't call it a complete fic until Snape was injured somehow. So hang in there! I also apoliogize to those new readers, who don't really get some of the background jokes I have implanted. Make it easier on yourselves, and just read iVoldy.


	6. The Steam Engine Saves The Fic

AN: Yup. Sorry to say, guys, but this is the last Roadkill chapter. Unless I reopen it like I did for iVoldy. But don't cross your fingers.

I know this fic was way shorter than iVoldy, but I hope you enjoyed it just as much!

DC: No Botox, no cows, no 1950's Red Scare references.

Enjoy!

**Bp – pb – bp – pb – did you know Pb is the abbreviation for lead on the periodic table?**

Postman carefully fed the insurance company's complaints through the paper shredder. It never said that they would cover the hospital bills from a telescoped spine and driving catastrophe, but then again it never said they _wouldn't_.

He threw a casual match onto the rest of the envelopes (a pile of suspiciously thick, brown messages) and prepared his desk for class.

"Morning Mr. Postman!" Voldemort chirped… chirpily. He frolicked into the room, grinning like a maniac.

"Hello… good… student…" Postman forced through a real-as-Botox smile.

"Today is the Final Exam!" sang Voldemort.

"Ready… to… become… an… adult… driver?"

"You bet!" Voldemort enthused, with slightly bulging eyes.

"Very… good. Now… have… a…. seat…"

Voldemort obeyed, trembling with excitement.

Class started as the other students took their seats.

"Well, boys and girls," Postman began, clasping his hands and surveying the room with a teacherly love. "Today is going to be a big day for you! That's right! It's the Final Exam! Now who here's excited?"

In unison the class blinked and gave their teacher dull, scathing looks.

"Oohoohooh!" Voldemort leapt onto his chair and waved his hand. "Ooh, Mr. Postman, I'm excited! I am! Me me me! Mr. Postman! Mr. Postman, I'm excited!"

The Botox used to keep Postman's right eye from twitching gave way.

"Mr. Postman! Mr. Postman! Guess what, guess what! _I'm excited!_"

"I know that, Voldemort." Postman said, while attempting to duct tape his face still. "Please sit down so we can continue with the lesson."

"Okay, Mr. Postman, but just so you know, I'm excited!"

Postman abandoned the duct tape and reached for the Gorilla Glue. "Very good, Voldemort. Please be quiet and respect the rest of the class."

Subdued, Voldemort sank back down into his seat, giggling from time to time, and clapping his hand over his mouth.

"Okay, boys and girls, who wants to take the Final Exam first? NO, Voldemort, I'm sorry, you've gone first too many other times. Let's take some new volunteers…"

Postman scanned the room, hoping to find a new volunteer.

"C'mon, now," he said, nervously cheerful, "Let's not be shy. It's not that bad…"

Blink. Blink.

Postman resigned himself to another month in the hospital and said, "Okay. Voldemort, you're up. The rest of you… if I don't make it back ali – I mean, review your notes, and don't commit arson."

He nodded gravely, and signaled to Voldemort. "Let's go."

**Bp – pb – bp – pb – did you know Pb is the abbreviation for lead on the periodic table?**

Snape was singing.

"_I'm siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiining in the rain, just siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinging in the rain, what a glorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrious feeling, I'm haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy again…"_

"Um, Snape?" Lucius asked, tapping the Death Eater on the shoulder.

"-_ing in the_ – Yes?"

Lucius motioned to the sun and the cloudless sky. "It's not raining." He said.

Snape glanced upwards.

"Oh." He said.

"Sorry to break it to you. I know how much you love Gene Kelly."

"Well in that case I'll go lie out in the middle of the road."

Lucius frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"I haven't been severally injured in this fan fiction yet." Snape explained. "So I need to go get that over with."

"Ah." The blond Death Eater tapped the side of his nose wisely. "I '_gotcha_'." He winked.

They stood for a moment.

"What the hell is this scene even _about_?!" Snape exclaimed loudly pulling out his script. "It's the stupidest thing in the world! Where's the relation to the story?"

Lucius shrugged. "I don't really care. Work on commission, after all."

Snape groaned and rubbed his temples. "I need more mate…"

"Don't you have to lie in the middle of the street?"

"You're right. I'll go do that, you bring the mate out to me."

**Bp – pb – bp – pb – did you know Pb is the abbreviation for lead on the periodic table?**

"First stop…" Postman steered Voldemort over to the DMV desk. "You need a permit."

Joe grinned nastily, remembering the occurrences in Chapter Two (The Unwritten Rule of the DMV).

"Here's your permit," he said, handing a little card of plastic to Voldemort.

The Dark Lord glanced at the picture and gasped in horror. "This is awful!" he cried, recoiling at the very sight. "Why must all driver's license pictures look horrible?"

Cackling, Joe said, "You should have remembered not to insult me before you get your photo taken! And just so you know, _Wisconsin cows are WAY better than any pansy California cows!_"

Voldemort covered his eyes. "What a fool I was! Now I cannot venture out into daylight with such an awful license!"

Postman rolled his eyes. "Tough," he said, grabbing hold of Voldemort's robe and dragging him along. "We all do it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Postman, but I don't think I can take the Final Exam." Sobbed the Dark Lord.

Postman froze, utter disbelief upon his face.

"Won't… take the Final Exam… you won't take… the Final Exam!"

His face morphed into maniac happiness. "Whoopee!" he shouted, prancing around the DMV office. "I don't have to suffer through it! It's done! It's all over! _Whoopee_!"

Sniffling, Voldemort returned to the classroom, and wedged his hideous license into the paper shredder. Then he gathered his things from his desk, (albeit he had no things in his desk) and left the DMV, with Postman rejoicing in the office, and Joe writing a letter of complaint to Arnold Schwarzenegger, about the cows and the Communists in Hollywood.

The Dark Lord trooped back to Malfoy Manor, and as he did, Lucius broke the StairMaster, and Bellatrix gave a group of Brownies crack.

"I guess driving isn't my groove." Voldemort sighed, settling into his swivel chair in his Lair O' Doom™. "I'll just have to buy a magic carpet."

He opened up his laptop, logged onto eBay, and began searching.

And life was back to normal.

Or was it…

_Later that night…_

"Aw, c'mon, guys!" Snape yelled from his spot on the pavement. "I gotta get run over!"

The crickets chirped.

"Please? Look, the author's gonna kill me! Not to mention the readers… 'Snape, who's bound to be run over' and 'I swore Snape was gonna get run down'… You don't want to deny _them _do you?"

Chirp. Chirp.

"Do you?"

Chirp.

"Hello? Guys? … Guys?"

Chripchirpchirp.

"Aw, man…" Snape grumbled, rising and brushing himself off and muttering.

"All I want is little cooperation, I mean, is that too much to ask? Honestly. Just one little scene but _nooooooooooo_, I get ignored, completely ignored…"

He was almost at the sidewalk when suddenly, and without any warning what so ever, Postman came barreling down the street in a steam engine.

"_Pedestrian, 10 o'clock!_" he screamed, and leaned on the horn. "_Prepare to have your family's hopes and dreams destroyed!_"

"_Thank_ you!" Snape exclaimed. "I can't believe how long you guys took on this mmphmmphowowowowowowmmphthathurtholymmphow-"

The steam engine chugged away, leaving Snape satisfyingly run over.

**Bp – pb – bp – pb – did you know Pb is the abbreviation for lead on the periodic table?**

AN: All I can say is that any resemblance to SpongeBob and Mrs. Puff is completely coincidental. Seriously. Whoops.

Until next fic, which I'm already writing,

Ginny X-P


	7. Tying Almost Everything Up Epilogue

AN: Bonus _mini_-chap. I'm obviously incredibly weak-willed. But also because I just realized I forgot to thank everyone for the great reviews, and reviewing in the first place! So here it is, the entire chapter written on the guilt of one grateful girl. Hearts to those who reviewed, I love you all!

And to FuzzBucket, thank you, I'm flattered!

DC: Jeez… who reads these anyways?! … um… I write using copyrighted characters. So sue me. (Okay, don't actually. It was a joke. A joke! Put down the contracts! Warner Bros, don't make me come over there…)

**page break - rupture de page – rottura di pagina – Seitenede – **

Voldemort waltzed out of Malfoy Manor and down the street. Today he was going to pick up his new magic carpet he bought off eBay. And you could always trust eBay.

He waved jovially at Bellatrix, who was leading her Brownie troop into a shrub to hind from the police's drug sniffing dogs.

Then he passed a flattened Snape from the street, who was being scrapped from the pavement with a large spatula by the paramedics.

Smiling that everything was as it should be, the Dark Lord arrived at the eBay pick-up center.

"I'd like to get a package." He told the receptionist.

"Wasn't it mailed to your house?"

"Apparently the UPS doesn't deliver to my house anymore."

"Ah. In that case, I'll just need you to sign these papers of release."

Voldemort was able to smile cheesily. "I don't really 'do' the whole signing thing."

The receptionist returned the smile. "Then a driver's license will do."

There was a pause.

"D – Dri – Drivers… License?"

"Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"

Mental images flashed across Voldemort's mind. He stood for a very long moment, while the receptionist, who was probably the only sane person ever featured in one of Ginny's fictions, watched him with growing interest.

"Sir?"

The Dark Lord backed away, holding up a cross that was wrapped in plastic wrap around his neck.

"It was hideous, I tell you! Hideous!" Voldemort gasped. "That Wisconsinite… don't trust him! He lies… he lies!"

And he was gone.

The receptionist drummed her fingers on the counter. "Now what am I supposed to do with a magic carpet…" she wondered aloud, eyeing the rolled up bundle.

Inconspicuously, she glanced around, and pulled out a sheet of paper from beneath her desk.

Sure that no one was around, she flipped the paper over, grabbed the carpet and ran outside, shouting, "_Road Trip Bingo Extraordinaire, here I come!_"

… So much for sane.

**page break - rupture de page – rottura di pagina – Seitenede – **

AN: That's _IT_. I _swear_. Unless you guys completely _drown_ me in reviews, I'm moving on.


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